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writingsoftarnishedsilver · 10 days ago

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The Solstice Ball | Sebastian Sallow x OC #11

If Bridgerton met Hogwarts Legacy.

Summary: Evangeline readies for the Solstice Ball with her friends' help, navigating nerves and feelings of uncertainty about her place in the pure-blood world. Though Lysander is polite and well-intentioned, hints of doubt and his family’s scrutiny weigh on her. During the ball, Ominis and an unexpectedly present Sebastian pull her for dances, giving her brief respite from the pressure and allowing Sebastian a chance to be close to her.

Words: 9,847

Tags: Slow Burn, Pure-blood Society, Courtship Traditions, Unspoken Feelings, Friends To Lovers, Jealousy, Romantic Tension, Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love

Read more stories about Sebastian and Evangeline

Natty, Cressida, and Nellie circled Evangeline, filling the sixth year girls’ dormitory was filled with laughter and soft chatter. They had been fussing over her dress, adjusting every detail, each one determined that she look absolutely perfect.

“I still can’t believe you’re going to the Solstice Ball,” Cressida said for the millionth time, securing a delicate silver pin in Evangeline’s hair. “It’s one of the biggest social events of the year. Just being invited is a huge deal.”

Evangeline managed a smile, but she couldn’t shake the nervous flutter in her chest. “It feels a bit overwhelming,” she admitted, her eyes drifting to her reflection.

The gown she wore was a rich, deep green that complimented her hazel eyes, its fabric cascading over her curves in a way that felt both elegant and daring. Silver threads wove intricate patterns along the neckline and sleeves, catching the candlelight and giving her an ethereal shimmer with every movement. Her dark hair had been carefully styled, loose waves framing her face while delicate silver pins held stray curls back, adding an almost regal touch to her appearance, but it still felt as though she were playing dress-up. “I know Lysander invited me weeks ago, but the pressure didn’t quite sink in until… well, now.” She glanced at herself in the mirror with a frown.

The Solstice Ball was a prestigious tradition, hosted annually by one of Britain’s 24 most esteemed pure-blood families, with the honour rotating each year. This time, the event was held by Lysander’s family, the Clearwaters, making Evangeline’s role as his date feel all the more significant—and daunting. Beyond its elegance, the ball served as a social stage for public declarations, courtship displays, and strategic family alliances—a rite of passage steeped in the unspoken expectations of pure-blood society.

“You seem nervous,” Natty observed, smoothing the hem of Evangeline’s gown. Her voice was gentle, sensing the weight her friend carried tonight. “You want to talk about it?”

“I am a bit, yes,” Evangeline admitted, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “It’s just that this is a... very official, very public event, I… I don’t know. It feels like more than just a date. It’s like a formal introduction to his world.” She paused, looking down. “It’s a lot to take in. I just keep wondering if I’ll even fit in.”

Nellie clucked her tongue, waving a hand dismissively. “Pure-blood, shmure-blood. Just because you didn’t grow up with all these formalities doesn’t mean you don’t belong there. Besides, you’ve already won over Lysander, haven’t you?”

Evangeline smiled, grateful for the vote of confidence. “Yes, I... it does seem so. And I’ve been enjoying our time together,” she admitted softly, though there was a hesitation in her voice. “He’s wonderful, truly. Kind, thoughtful… he’s always been such a gentleman.” She paused, pushing down the traitorous feeling of discontent that always seemed to creep in when she thought about her future with Lysander.

Her friends exchanged knowing looks, sensing there was more left unsaid, but let the moment pass without pressing.

They’re all going to be dazzled anyway,” Cressida added, giving her a reassuring pat. “Lysander’s family clearly respects him since they're allowing him to choose his date, so if he’s bringing you, they must know you’re important to him.”

Evangeline managed a soft smile, touched by her friends’ unwavering belief in her. “Thank you.”

“And besides,” Cressida added, fastening a silver chain around Evangeline’s neck, “Ominis will be there, right? He’s a Gaunt—pure-blood to the bone. So you’ll have someone familiar by your side who gets how intense these events can be.”

Evangeline laughed softly, her nerves settling a little. “Thank Merlin for Ominis. Just knowing he’ll be there makes it easier to face everyone else.”

Nellie finished the final touches of Evangeline’s makeup, her eyes bright with approval as she stepped back to admire their work. “There,” she said, nodding with satisfaction. “You’re going to stop hearts.”

Evangeline let out a nervous laugh, trying to quiet the flutter in her stomach as she took one last, steadying look in the mirror. She looked like she belonged at the Solstice Ball, like a girl crafted to fit seamlessly into this world of legacy and luxury. Yet, as she took in her reflection, a part of her felt undeniably out of place, as if she were wearing someone else’s life for the night. The layers of tradition, the weight of pure-blood expectations—all of it pressed down around her, a reminder of just how far her own past lay from this world’s storied halls and ancestral lineages. Still, for this night, with her friends’ help and encouragement, she would play her part.

Cressida gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze, a bright smile lighting up her face. “I’m so excited for you, Evie. You’ll be wonderful.”

Evangeline tried to hold onto her enthusiasm, but a thought, unbidden, flickered through her mind—a familiar face, a lopsided smirk, dark eyes catching hers in a crowded room. She was unable to stop herself from wondering what girl he’d spend the night with now that she and Ominis would both be otherwise occupied. The idea made her chest ache, but she scolded herself, forcing her attention back to the present. This night was a formal announcement of her courtship with Lysander, a milestone he’d asked her to be part of. Tonight, her focus belonged to him.

She took a steadying breath, shaking off the lingering thoughts of Sebastian, and turned to her friends, giving them her warmest smile. “Thank you—all of you. I wouldn’t have been able to do this without you.”

The three of them beamed back at her, each one offering a final round of encouragement and hugs before Natty gently guided her toward the door. “Now go,” she said with a grin. “And let us know everything tomorrow.”

Evangeline smiled, allowing herself to feel a surge of confidence as she stepped out of the dormitory, her heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and nerves.

She descended the steps into the Gryffindor common room, her fingers trailing along the polished banister, as a hush fell over the room. Several students paused to look up, their curious gazes sweeping over her as she moved toward the portrait hole. A few offered murmurs of approval, and she caught one or two wide-eyed glances from her younger housemates. She gave them a small smile, hoping it looked more confident than she felt, and slipped through the portrait hole.

Waiting just outside was Lysander, who looked every inch the part of a pure-blood gentleman, his dark, tailored robes cut to fit his tall, lean frame perfectly. His gold-blonde hair was combed neatly back, and his bright blue eyes lit up with warmth as they landed on her. There was an undeniable charm to him, a confidence that seemed to belong naturally to someone born into this world of etiquette and expectations.

When his gaze landed on her, it softened, a faint blush creeping over his cheeks as his eyes roamed over her figure in admiration. He extended a hand to her, his fingers cool against hers as he drew her close, “You look lovely,” he murmured, his voice filled with genuine admiration.

Evangeline’s cheeks warmed, and she squeezed his hand gently, offering him a smile. “Thank you, Lysander. You look wonderful, too,” she replied, trying to push aside the faint awareness of something that felt slightly… off. She knew she should feel more attracted to him; he was undeniably handsome, strikingly so, but there was a certain spark missing, a feeling she couldn’t quite summon, no matter how hard she tried. She told herself it was simply nerves.

He chuckled, glancing away as if to hide his own embarrassment, “I suppose I should make an effort, seeing as my family’s hosting,” he said with a slight shrug, though there was a touch of pride in his tone. But beneath his polite smile, she sensed a flicker of something more—a faint hesitation in his gaze as it moved over her;

Though he hid it quickly, Evangeline picked up on it, her smile faltering slightly. “Is... everything all right, Lysander?”

He hesitated, then nodded, his gaze briefly flickering away before he returned it to her. “Of course. I just… well, I want you to enjoy yourself tonight.” He paused, his smile fading slightly as his eyes softened. “You know, some of these families can be… very particular. Old-fashioned. I know it’s a bit much, and I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

Evangeline’s brow furrowed slightly, sensing the hesitance in his words. She understood, of course—she’d expected a degree of judgment here. But there was something about the way he looked at her, something in the way his gaze lingered on her figure, that made her heart clench slightly.

“Don’t worry,” she replied with a reassuring smile, though her chest felt tight. “I’ll be all right. Besides, I’m here with you.”

He smiled, but she couldn’t help but notice the flicker of uncertainty in his expression. “Yes, well… just know that I’m here for you, all right? I want you there and I... I think you look amazing.”

Evangeline’s smile faltered. She wanted to believe his words, to feel reassured by them, but a small part of her felt a pang of insecurity, a sense that he too worried that she wouldn't measure up. The unease lingered as he led her down the quiet, empty corridors.

When they reached the grand fireplace in the main hall, Lysander turned to her, “Ready for the Floo?” he asked.

Evangeline took a deep breath, steadying herself. The idea of stepping into the Clearwater estate—the grand heart of Lysander’s prestigious family legacy—filled her with a flutter of nerves she couldn’t entirely quell. But as if sensing her hesitation, Lysander’s hand gave hers a gentle, reassuring squeeze, anchoring her in the moment. He had invited her into this world, had told her she was beautiful, that she was enough. The warmth in his gaze made her heart steady, and she found herself nodding, holding onto that reassurance.

“Ready,” she replied, her voice soft but steady.

They stepped into the fireplace together, and with a swirl of green flames and a murmured location, they were swept away, spinning through the Floo network until they arrived in a sprawling entry hall. Evangeline blinked, the scent of pine and cedar filling her senses as she adjusted to their new surroundings.

The Clearwater estate was nothing short of breathtaking—a massive country manor nestled in the rolling hills of northern England. High, vaulted ceilings rose above them, and towering windows lined the walls, offering glimpses of snow-dusted grounds and the expansive gardens beyond. Evergreen wreaths adorned the walls, and silver ornaments gleamed from garlands draped along the staircase, all lit by the soft glow of enchanted candles.

While she marveled at the opulence of it all, Lysander led her forward, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze as they moved through the grand hall. She could feel the subtle shift in atmosphere as they approached the party, the faint sound of strings and laughter filtering through the open doors.

As they entered the main ballroom, a tall, stately doorman standing just inside cleared his throat and called out in a deep, resonant voice, “Mr. Lysander Clearwater, accompanied by Miss Evangeline Sterling.”

The announcement echoed across the hall, drawing the attention of everyone present. There was a polite smattering of applause, heads turning to observe them as they stepped into the room. Evangeline’s heart fluttered, and she felt herself instinctively tighten her hold on Lysander’s arm. All around them were faces, expressions both curious and scrutinizing, each one belonging to one of Britain’s most prominent pure-blood families.

The ballroom itself was as breathtaking as the estate’s grand entrance, its high ceilings adorned with enchanted snowflakes and angels that drifted gracefully through the air before vanishing, leaving only a faint shimmer. Crystal chandeliers cast a golden light over everything, illuminating the guests’ elegantly tailored robes and glittering jewelry. Yet, for all its beauty, the ballroom felt almost like a stage, with her and Lysander as actors under the spotlight.

Lysander glanced down at her with a gentle smile, offering her silent reassurance as they began to make their way through the crowd. But the weight of so many eyes on her was nearly overwhelming, and her heart raced as she met the faces she recognized, thanks to Ominis’s help in preparing her for the evening.

Directly across the room, she saw the Rosiers, and a few steps away from them were the Notts, the Greengrasses, and, in the corner, a small cluster of younger members of the Bones family. Each family name conjured Ominis’s careful descriptions from the last few weeks—the Rosiers, with their dignified but unyielding ways; the Notts, known for their quiet but influential presence; and the Bones family, a more progressive branch yet still wary of outsiders. She felt herself instinctively standing a bit taller, hoping to project confidence even as whispers began to hum through the crowd.

From her peripheral vision, she noticed Lady Selwyn, a striking woman with silver hair pulled back in an intricate twist, watching her with an expression of cool appraisal. Just beside her was her son, who glanced briefly at Evangeline before returning his attention to his mother, the two of them leaning close to exchange what she could only assume were pointed comments.

Lysander leaned down to murmur in her ear, his voice warm and reassuring. “You’re doing wonderfully, Evangeline. They’re simply curious—nothing more.”

Evangeline nodded, managing a small smile in return, though her pulse quickened as they passed by a cluster of guests that included members of the Shacklebolt family and the Montagues. She could feel their gazes assessing her, each one almost certainly wondering about her background, her connection to Lysander, and her place in this world of lineage and privilege. Every smile, every polite nod they extended felt as though it carried a question rather than a welcome.

An orphan, isn’t she? No known family… a curious choice.

Rather unusual for a Clearwater to bring someone without a lineage, is it not?.

Though her chest tightened, Evangeline forced herself to hold her head high, willing herself to remain composed. Just breathe, she reminded herself. You’re here because he wants you here.

Then, across the room, Evangeline recognized Lysander’s parents, standing near a gathering of dignified guests. Mr. and Mrs. Clearwater were the picture of elegance—his mother in a deep sapphire gown that shimmered like the midnight sky, and his father in stately robes of rich navy trimmed with silver. They spoke with effortless grace, offering polite nods and warm smiles to the other guests. Evangeline could see where Lysander had inherited his poise and charm, but the sight of his parents brought a fresh wave of nerves.

As they crossed the room toward them, Lysander leaned down and whispered reassuringly, “Don’t worry. They’re thrilled to meet you.”

Evangeline mustered a small smile and a nod, grateful for his steadying presence but acutely aware of the scrutinizing gazes that followed their every step. She could feel herself slipping into a practiced politeness, a mask that she hoped would help her navigate the evening.

“Mother, Father,” Lysander greeted them warmly. “I’d like to introduce you to Evangeline.”

Mrs. Clearwater’s eyes lit up with a smile that, though kind, held the sharpness of someone well-versed in societal expectations. “Miss Sterling, what a pleasure it is to finally meet you,” she said, extending a graceful hand. “Lysander has spoken so highly of you.”

“It’s lovely to meet you both,” Evangeline replied, taking her hand with a respectful nod. “Thank you for inviting me. And please, call me Evangeline."

Mr. Clearwater gave her a polite smile, his gaze appraising but not unkind. “We’re glad to have you with us tonight, Evangeline,” he said. “The Solstice Ball is a tradition we’ve looked forward to hosting for years.”

“I am most pleased to be here,” she replied, choosing her words carefully. “It’s truly an honour to witness such a longstanding tradition.”

As they continued to chat, Evangeline found herself relaxing, her initial nerves giving way to a tentative ease under the polite but genuine interest of Lysander’s parents. The questions his parents asked were gentle, considerate, and more about getting to know her than she’d expected.

Mrs. Clearwater asked her which subject she enjoyed most, and as she replied, sharing her fondness for Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts, she noticed a warm approval in the woman’s eyes. Even Mr. Clearwater’s questions were light and conversational, his expression softening as he listened to her talk about her her favourite professors. Though there was an air of formality in their questions, she could sense their genuine curiosity, and it helped her to feel less like an outsider.

“I’ve heard from Lysander that you’re quite dedicated to your studies,” Mr. Clearwater remarked with a slight smile. “He says you spend hours in the library.”

Evangeline managed a small laugh, glancing at Lysander, who returned her smile with pride in his eyes. But as she looked away, a pang of guilt pricked her heart. She had told Lysander so often that she was “studying” when, in reality, her late-night hours were often spent in the shadows of the Undercroft with Sebastian and Ominis.

She tried to brush the thought aside, focusing on Mr. Clearwater’s friendly expression. “Yes,” she replied, her voice steady. “There’s always more to learn, and the library feels… comforting, somehow.”

Mrs. Clearwater nodded approvingly, her gaze warm. “That dedication is commendable, Evangeline. Lysander also tells us you’re also quite a talented Quidditch player. It’s rare to see someone so well-rounded in both studies and sport.”

Evangeline forced another smile, hoping they wouldn’t see the hesitation in her eyes. “Thank you, Mrs. Clearwater-"

But before Lysander's mother could say more, a voice called across the room, “Lysander! There you are!”

A distinguished-looking wizard with graying hair and a finely embroidered robe approached them, his expression one of pleasant expectation. Evangeline felt Lysander’s hand tighten gently on her arm as he turned to face the newcomer.

“Uncle Hamish,” Lysander greeted, his tone warm and familiar. “It’s good to see you.”

The man gave Lysander a hearty clap on the shoulder before his gaze fell on Evangeline. “Ah, you must be the Miss Sterling I’ve heard so much about,” he said with a friendly but appraising look. “Welcome to the Solstice Ball. It’s rare we see fresh faces around here.”

“Thank you,” Evangeline replied, inclining her head respectfully. “It’s an honour to be here.”

Uncle Hamish’s eyes twinkled with curiosity, but before he could ask her anything further, more family friends began to approach, and soon Lysander and Evangeline were drawn into a string of introductions. Each new face carried a name steeped in history: the Travers, the Macmillans, and the Rowles, each offering polite nods or warm smiles, their expressions various shades of curiosity and judgment. And Evangeline, for her part, continued to smile, to play along, even if the polite nods and mildly approving expressions of the guests never reached their eyes.

As they continued their rounds, she noticed familiar faces from Hogwarts in the mix. Scorpius Malfoy, looking every bit his aristocratic heritage in a deep blue robe with silver trim, chatted with an older member of the Shacklebolt family. The Notts triplets lingered in a group by the tall marble fireplace, and the Greengrass children exchanged pleasantries with the Black family near the refreshment tables. Each of them was a reminder of just how tightly woven the pure-blood world was, how its traditions and alliances were valued more than ever within the gilded confines of this ballroom.

“Lysander Clearwater,” a cold but civil voice said, interrupting them. Evangeline turned, coming face to face with a dignified woman in shimmering silver robes and an intricate hairpiece adorned with tiny crescent moons. Evangeline recognized the woman immediately—Lady Marigold Selwyn, one of the strictest, most traditional pure-blood figures in the room, according to Ominis.

“Lady Selwyn,” Lysander greeted smoothly, giving a polite nod as Evangeline curtsied. Lady Selwyn’s gaze shifted to Evangeline, her expression unreadable.

“You must be Miss Sterling, I presume?” The older woman’s eyes lingered on her, calculating. “It’s rare to see a… newcomer, at an event like this.”

Evangeline managed a polite smile, her heartbeat quickening. “Thank you for welcoming me, Lady Selwyn.”

Lady Selwyn’s smile was small and unreadable. “Indeed.” Her gaze flicked back to Lysander and her smile held a hint of something sharp as she continued, “I must say, I wasn’t aware the Clearwaters would be so… comfortable inviting someone of unknown heritage to such an event.”

The words hung in the air, delicate yet barbed, and Evangeline felt a tightening in her chest as the implication landed. She glanced at Lysander, hoping for a confident dismissal of the remark. But to her surprise, his expression faltered, and for the first time that evening, he seemed unsure. His hand tightened slightly around hers, as though reassuring himself as much as her.

“Lady Selwyn,” he began, his voice measured, “Evangeline is my guest tonight, and that’s all that should matter.”

The response, though polite, felt strangely hollow, and Evangeline could sense that it hadn’t quite satisfied the question hovering in the air. Lady Selwyn raised an eyebrow, her faint, polite smile never faltering as she regarded them both, and after a moment, she offered a small, dismissive nod.

“Of course,” she said smoothly. “Forgive me, my dear. It’s just that traditions are… important to some of us.” With that, she gave them both a polite nod and drifted away, leaving Evangeline feeling strangely exposed.

The silence lingered for a moment, and she turned to Lysander, hoping for some reassurance. But his expression remained oddly guarded, and he looked away, clearing his throat.

“It’s nothing,” he said softly. “Lady Selwyn… she's particularly traditional. Don’t take it personally.”

Evangeline studied him, a seed of doubt taking root. There had been something in his response—something evasive. But before she could press the question and figure out what, a familiar figure caught her eye across the room. Ominis stood near a corner, looking poised and calm as he conversed with a few guests, his posture relaxed despite how much Evangeline knew he hated these events. Relief washed over her as she saw him, and for a moment, the tension in her chest eased. She managed a small smile, grateful to see a familiar face amid the sea of strangers.

“Would you excuse me for a moment?” she asked, her hand slipping from Lysander's. “I’d like to say hello to Ominis.”

Lysander nodded, his expression softening. “Of course. I’ll be right here.”

With a grateful smile, Evangeline excused herself and wove through the crowd, making her way toward Ominis. He sensed her approach, turning slightly and offering her a warm smile when she reached him.

“Evangeline,” he greeted, his voice a comforting balm amid the evening’s mounting tension. “You look… truly stunning.”

“Thank you, Ominis,” she replied, her voice soft with relief. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Ominis tilted his head, his smile fading slightly as he caught a note of strain in her tone. “Are you all right?”

She hesitated, her gaze flicking back to where Lysander stood, surrounded by his family’s world. “I’m… not sure,” she admitted, feeling her guarded composure begin to crack. “There’s a lot I didn’t expect about tonight.”

“Am I one of them?”

Evangeline couldn’t see him, but she’d know that voice anywhere. She turned slowly, and there he was—Sebastian, standing behind her with that familiar lopsided smirk, dressed in dark formal robes that seemed to make his eyes even darker, more intense.

"Sebastian," she breathed, both surprised and unsteady.

Ominis’s expression held a hint of mischief, “I thought you’d appreciate a familiar face or two,” he said, as if orchestrating this was the most obvious thing in the world.

Evangeline glanced back at Sebastian, her emotions twisting. She knew, logically, that she shouldn’t be entirely surprised. Sebastian was a pure-blood, after all, even if his family name didn’t hold the same prestigious position among the 24 as Ominis's. And, in a way, it was perfectly reasonable for Ominis to bring him as a guest, given that he had, once again, openly spited his own family’s expectations by refusing to bring a date.

Still, seeing Sebastian here, dressed in dark formal robes that seemed to sharpen every line of his face, took her by surprise. The sight of him like this—a balance of elegance and barely-contained restlessness—made her heart skip in a way she hadn’t quite prepared for.

“I hope you’re not too disappointed to see me,” Sebastian said, a trace of teasing in his voice, though his gaze was sharper, more intent, as he took her in.

She shook her head, managing a small smile despite the way her chest tightened. “No, not at all. I—” She paused, “I'm just surprised. What are you doing here?” she managed, her voice soft.

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “What? I can’t attend a fancy ball with my best mate?” His smile softened slightly as his gaze held hers.

Ominis gave her arm a light squeeze, “What was it you came to tell me?”

Evangeline blinked, her thoughts scattering. She had prepared herself for this night, for Lysander’s world and all the traditions it entailed. But she hadn’t prepared for Sebastian—hadn’t anticipated the way his dark, roguish eyes would draw her in with the simplest of looks, how his presence alone could make her feel unsteady.

“I… nothing, I just wanted to say hello, Ominis,” she managed, trying to focus on anything but Sebastian’s gaze.

She cast a nervous glance back toward Lysander, reminding herself of his kindness, his patience, his unwavering attention tonight. This night was important to him—to them. And she was here to be part of his world, to show him the respect of her focus and presence. It wasn’t fair to let herself be pulled in another direction by someone who, no matter how much he meant to her, wasn’t courting her. Wasn't offering her a future in the way Lysander was.

“I should get back,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone else, willing her heart to slow as she took a step back. “Lysander’s waiting for me.”

Ominis’s expression softened, reading the conflict in her face. “Of course, Evie,” he said gently, his gaze flicking to Sebastian, who gave him an unreadable look in return.

With one last glance at them both, she turned, making her way back through the crowd to Lysander, hoping her face didn’t betray the tumult within her.

Sebastian watched her retreat, his expression unreadable and his eyes never leaving her until she melted into the crowd. He knew, deep down, that he shouldn’t have come. This was Evangeline’s night, a public statement of her courtship with Clearwater. He could see it in the way Lysander had held her hand, his possessive pride at having her by his side, dressed in a gown that has Sebastian’s heart stuttering.

And yet, he couldn’t help himself.

“She looks beautiful tonight,” Sebastian murmured, almost to himself, his voice carrying a note of longing he hadn’t intended to let slip.

Ominis nodded, his own gaze softening as he watched Evangeline laugh with Lysander across the room. “She does,” he agreed, though there was a subtle edge to his tone, as if reminding Sebastian of the reality before them. “But remember what this night means for her. For Lysander.”

Sebastian’s jaw tightened, and he forced himself to look away, staring at the glittering crowd as though he could will his heart back under control. “I know,” he muttered, the words barely audible. The sight of her with Lysander—the easy way they fit together tonight—stirred something raw and painful within him, something he fought to keep buried.

Ominis’s expression darkened slightly, and he lowered his voice. “Though,” he said slowly, a hint of suspicion creeping into his tone, “I believe I know what she wanted to come over and tell me.”

Sebastian frowned, catching the shift in his friend’s demeanour. “What do you mean?”

Ominis’s lips pressed into a thin line, his usually soft expression hardening slightly. “While you’ve been enjoying the food and drinks, I’ve been making an effort to blend in with our esteemed pure-blood company—listening.” His voice grew colder, a hint of bitterness lacing his words. “Being a Gaunt has its uses at events like this. People assume I’m interested in their little whispers about lineage and appearances.”

Sebastian’s brows knitted, his gaze fixed on Ominis with sudden intensity. “What did you hear?”

Ominis took a slow breath, casting a careful glance around to ensure they wouldn’t be overheard. “There’s been talk of Evangeline all evening,” he said, his voice barely above a murmur. “Many here are intrigued by the Clearwaters’ choice to invite someone whose heritage is… less defined. And old Lady Selwyn isn’t the only one who finds it... surprising.” He paused, his jaw tightening. “Some of them have made comments... about her appearance, too."

Sebastian’s fists tightened as Ominis’s words sank in, his face darkening with barely controlled fury. “They’re saying what about her?” His voice was low, simmering, yet his anger was barely contained. He couldn’t believe it—no, he could believe it, but that only made it worse.

Ominis’s gaze flicked to him, noting his clenched jaw. “I overheard many of them talking about it from the moment she walked in. Comments about her ‘fitting in’ if she just—” he hesitated, his voice edged with disgust, “if she lost a few pounds,’ or ‘if she refined herself just a bit more... Honestly Sebastian I can’t even bring myself to repeat it all."

Sebastian’s entire body went rigid, his fists clenching so tightly that his knuckles turned white. A fierce, unspoken fury simmered beneath the surface, his expression hardening into something dangerously unreadable. He couldn’t help but think of Evangeline—how she’d spent the summer in quiet, hidden grief, the weight of loss taking its toll on her. By the time sixth year had started, she’d returned looking as though she'd be hollowed out, her natural curves diminished, her face pale and drawn. He remembered watching her then, noticing the exhaustion in her eyes and the way she seemed to drift through each day, her usual spark dimmed.

Only recently, after countless shared meals where he’d made it his mission to coax her into actually eating, had he seen her begin to come back to herself. Her laughter had returned, the colour in her cheeks brightening, and he’d watched her figure regain the fullness it was always meant to hold. And to Sebastian, her softness, her radiance, her curves—they were everything that made her uniquely, stunningly Evangeline. Irresistible, if he were honest with himself.

The idea that anyone could see her, truly see her, and still suggest she needed to change, to “refine” herself for this world, struck him like a physical blow. And now here she was, enduring these vultures picking apart her appearance as if she hadn’t already lost enough.

“They’re speculating about her background, as well,” Ominis continued, his voice tight with disdain, “Lady Selwyn has already suggested she’s not a suitable match for Lysander because her heritage is unknown. And a few others seem to think Lysander hasn’t been entirely honest with his family about her… origins.”

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed, his voice barely controlled. "What do you mean?"

Ominis let out a slow, frustrated breath, his gaze hardening as he glanced around the room, ensuring their conversation remained private. “I mean,” he said quietly, “that Lysander may have presented her here tonight without fully preparing his family for the reality of who she is. Not out of malice, but perhaps… convenience.” His jaw tightened, his normally calm demeanor fraying at the edges. “He may not have explicitly shared that Evangeline is an orphan, that her past is… obscured. Instead, it seems he’s let them draw their own conclusions. And unfortunately, some of the 24,” he glanced meaningfully at Lady Selwyn across the room, "Know the truth."

Sebastian’s anger blazed, his fists clenching at his sides. “If Lysander didn’t tell his family… then she’s here, surrounded by people who already don’t think she belongs. And he’s left her to fend off rumors and comments on her own?”

He could hardly stand it. The gall of it—to parade Evangeline into this room as a token of courtship without the courage to be fully honest, to be proud about who she was. His mind whirred, torn between fury and the urge to pull her out of this charade himself.

Ominis nodded grimly, his expression unreadable. “Exactly.” He paused, glancing in Evangeline’s direction, where she stood next to Lysander, her posture stiff. “She’s holding her own, but...”

Sebastian could barely hear him through the roaring in his ears, his gaze searching for Evangeline across the room. The grace with which she held herself, even as he knew she felt out of place—it left his heart aching and his fists itching to knock some sense into the people around her. “If Lysander can’t even stand up for her… he doesn’t deserve her,” Sebastian muttered, voice harsh.

Ominis’s hand found Sebastian’s shoulder, holding him back. “Sebastian, keep your head. Making a scene will only make things worse.”

Sebastian took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to rein in the fury simmering in his chest. Ominis was right, of course; storming across the ballroom and demanding the respect Evangeline deserved wouldn’t help her in this situation. It would only serve as further fodder for those gossiping mouths to twist, to fuel the whispers that already followed her every step tonight.

But he couldn’t ignore the knot tightening in his stomach as he watched her beside Lysander, her expression calm and poised yet visibly weary.

“She deserves better than this,” he muttered through clenched teeth, his eyes never leaving her figure in the distance. “I can’t just stand here and do nothing.”

Ominis’s grip on his shoulder tightened, grounding him. “Then don’t. But we need to handle this the right way.”

A plan began to form in his mind—a way to pull her from the crowd, if only for a moment, to give her a breath of reprieve. He cast a sidelong glance at Ominis. “If I bring her away for a dance, it won’t cause too much of a stir… right?”

Ominis smirked, catching on to Sebastian’s line of thinking. “A dance could be explained as a courtesy—once she’s already danced with Lysander, there’s no reason why we couldn’t offer.”

Sebastian nodded, his gaze sharp with intent. “If we both can pull her away, perhaps for some of the… longer numbers, we might give her a real break from all of this.” He smirked, a flash of determination in his eyes. “Besides, a little reminder that she’s not alone tonight might do wonders.”

Ominis chuckled, his own smirk laced with mischief. “Indeed. And perhaps it’ll unsettle a few of the more… observant guests, seeing her so well-accompanied.”

With a shared look of understanding, the two made their way across the ballroom toward Evangeline and Lysander, their expressions composed, projecting an air of pure-blood decorum that rarely found its way to Sebastian’s face. He could feel Ominis’s approving smirk beside him, as if the two of them were setting off on a mission rather than simply crossing a room.

As they neared her, Sebastian caught Evangeline’s eyes, watching as a flicker of surprise lit her expression. He suppressed a grin, noting the subtle way her brows lifted, and the small, almost concealed smile that tugged at the corner of her lips. If nothing else, it seemed his ‘proper’ entrance was already having the intended effect.

Lysander greeted them both with a nod, his expression polite but tight, perhaps aware that he was no longer the sole focus of Evangeline’s attention. Before he could speak, however, Ominis stepped forward with the composed grace of a Gaunt heir, inclining his head toward Evangeline.

“Miss Sterling,” he said in a voice smooth enough to rival any of the assembled pure-blood elite, “Mr. Sallow and I would be delighted if you’d allow us each a dance this evening."

Evangeline’s eyes widened, and a faint laugh slipped from her lips as she looked from Ominis to Sebastian, who had plastered a charmingly formal smile on his face to match the act.

“Indeed,” Sebastian added with a glint of mischief, inclining his head. “Would you join us for a dance or two, Miss Sterling? If your esteemed date has no objections, of course,” he said, directing a pointed look at Lysander. It was as courteous as a request could sound, though Lysander caught the unspoken challenge in his tone.

Lysander, managing a polite smile, nodded after a tense pause. “Of course,” he replied, though there was a hint of reluctance in his tone.

Evangeline’s gaze darted between the three of them, her cheeks tinged pink, and her lips pressed together as though she were holding back a laugh. The sight of Sebastian dressed to perfection and behaving as though he were part of the pure-blood inner circle was almost too much for her to bear.

Sebastian couldn’t resist a smirk as he watched her, knowing exactly how out of place she must have felt seeing him behave with such exaggerated propriety. He winked, a subtle gesture that went unnoticed by Lysander but sent a rush of warmth to Evangeline’s cheeks.

“Very well,” she said, managing to keep her tone composed despite the amusement dancing in her eyes. “I’d be honoured to have a dance with each of you.”

“Excellent,” Ominis replied smoothly, reaching for her dance card as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He carefully signed his name, then passed it to Sebastian with a knowing look.

Sebastian took the dance card, his fingers brushing against hers for the briefest moment, sending a subtle but unmistakable jolt through him. He maintained his poised expression, though the corners of his mouth twitched with a hint of amusement as he signed his name in a bold, sweeping script. Handing the card back to Evangeline, he caught her gaze, letting his warm eyes linger a moment longer than strictly necessary.

“Thank you, Miss Sterling,” he said with the utmost formality, his voice a low murmur. “I look forward to our dance.”

Evangeline stifled a laugh, glancing at Ominis with a raised eyebrow, as if to say, Is he serious? But Ominis simply gave a slight, knowing nod, thoroughly enjoying their shared performance.

“Until then,” Ominis added, his tone gentle but unyielding, signaling that they’d soon be reclaiming her attention. He gave her a small, polite bow before turning to leave, his every movement laced with subtle but unmistakable confidence.

Sebastian followed Ominis’s lead, and as they walked away, he couldn’t resist one last glance back at Evangeline. She was watching them, an expression of bewildered delight etched across her face, as though she still couldn’t quite believe what had just happened.

The two made their way back to a vantage point by the ballroom's edge, positioning themselves where they could keep an eye on her. Ominis leaned close, lowering his voice to avoid drawing any unwanted attention.

“Well,” he murmured, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips, “if nothing else, we’ve given her something to smile about.”

Sebastian’s gaze softened, his anger toward Lysander momentarily replaced by a sense of quiet pride. “Good. Merlin knows she deserves a bit of joy tonight.” He watched her as she returned to conversing with Lysander, her posture slightly more relaxed, her smile genuine. The heaviness in his chest lightened, if only just.

Sebastian and Ominis continued greeting clusters of dignified guests and elite families as the night continued on. Sebastian wore a faintly amused smile, a mask of charm that he’d perfected over the years. Though he held little regard for pure-blood traditions or the rigid expectations of these gatherings, Sebastian knew how to navigate them effortlessly, his natural charisma easing conversations and winning approving nods even from the most scrutinizing figures in the room.

Ominis, meanwhile, was equally adept at the art of polite socializing, his demeanour practiced and precise. His background and name alone commanded respect, and combined with his easy elegance, he could sway conversations and command attention with a quiet word or two. Together, they formed an unbreakable front, subtly deflecting any barbed questions or suspicious glances that came their way regarding Evangeline.

After a few drinks, they found themselves by the bar, each holding a glass of something dark and smooth as they observed the room with a mixture of detachment and careful interest. This late into the night, the laughter had grown louder, the polished veneer of decorum slipping just enough to reveal the familiar arrogance that often accompanied pure-blood gatherings.

“Merlin’s beard, the gall of some of these people,” Sebastian muttered, barely keeping his disdain out of his voice. He took a measured sip of his drink, his gaze shifting to Evangeline across the room.

“Pure-blood tradition,” Ominis replied, his voice laced with irony. “It’s a game, Sebastian. A game we’re all forced to play.” He gave a small shrug, his eyes flicking towards Lady Selwyn, who was in the middle of what looked to be an animated conversation with a group of guests.

Just then, the orchestra struck up the first notes of a formal waltz, finally signaling the beginning of the evening’s opening dance. A hush fell over the ballroom as the guests turned their attention to the dance floor, where Lysander led Evangeline forward with a confident smile.

Sebastian’s gaze zeroed in on her instantly, his heart giving an involuntary, almost painful lurch. She looked radiant, her gown catching the candlelight as she moved, the deep green fabric cascading around her figure.

Her face held an expression of reserved concentration, her eyes meeting Lysander’s with a polite but distant smile. Sebastian’s jaw tightened; he couldn’t help but feel as if she were forcing herself to play a role for him.

Next to him, Ominis nudged his shoulder, pulling Sebastian from his tense reverie. “If you keep staring like that, you’re going to set the whole ballroom on fire.”

Sebastian huffed a quiet laugh, his grip tightening around his glass. “Wouldn’t that be a sight,” he muttered, though his gaze didn’t waver from the dance floor.

Ominis raised an eyebrow but said nothing, watching as Lysander placed a steady hand on Evangeline’s waist, guiding her effortlessly across the floor in time with the music. Lysander’s movements were polished, his steps exact and calculated. Evangeline followed gracefully, though Sebastian could sense a hint of discomfort in her posture, the faint strain in her shoulders as she tried to match Lysander’s steps.

“I wonder what she's thinking,” Sebastian murmured, his gaze never leaving Evangeline.

“…probably something along the lines of ‘don’t trip,’” Ominis replied with a smirk, though his tone softened as he watched her. “But more likely, she’s just focused on keeping up with every unspoken rule in this room."

Sebastian’s jaw tightened. “She shouldn’t have to.” He watched as Lysander spun her, her gown flaring out elegantly before she returned to his arms. Though she was smiling, it was distant, a careful expression that made Sebastian’s chest ache. He’d seen her more relaxed battling a bludger on the Quidditch pitch.

Ominis tilted his head, considering Sebastian's expression with a subdued smile, “You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you're jealous.”

Sebastian shot him a look, but the slight flush in his cheeks betrayed him. In response, Ominis chuckled, though there was an understanding glint in his eyes. “Careful, or you’ll end up declaring a duel for her honor before the night’s through.”

Sebastian managed a dry laugh. “Don’t tempt me.” He took a long sip from his glass, gaze unwavering from Evangeline as she and Lysander moved together in perfect, rehearsed steps.

Soon, the orchestra swelled, and the dance came to an elegant close, applause rippling across the room as couples broke apart and moved to the edges of the floor.

Sebastian watched with a mixture of impatience and something deeper as a series of partners approached Evangeline for dances. He clenched his jaw each time a new hand slipped around her waist, guiding her through the steps of formal waltzes and lively gavottes, though the sting was lessened by the simple fact that none of them were Lysander. Still, a faint ache lingered as he watched her smile politely, never quite reaching her eyes, as she moved gracefully around the floor.

But then, finally, it was Ominis’s turn, and Sebastian allowed himself a small sigh of relief, tension easing from his shoulders. He watched as Ominis approached her with his usual effortless poise, offering his hand as though it were his natural role to lead her across the floor. Evangeline’s smile softened, her eyes lighting up in genuine warmth as she placed her hand in his. The orchestra began a slower waltz this time, and Ominis guided her gracefully into the steps, their movements fluid and comfortable.

Sebastian found himself leaning back, finally able to enjoy the sight of her at ease, her laughter unforced as she and Ominis shared quiet words only they could hear. The tension that had simmered in his chest all evening gradually faded, replaced by a sense of peace. At least with Ominis, she was in good hands, safe from scrutiny or judgment. Safe from having to be anything but herself.

Just as he was beginning to relax, a familiar voice beside him interrupted his thoughts. “Looks like they’re having a good time, doesn’t it?”

Sebastian glanced over, finding himself face-to-face with Lysander at the bar. His smile was polite, his tone cordial, but Sebastian caught the glimmer of something sharper in his eyes.

“Yes,” Sebastian replied smoothly, keeping his expression neutral. “I’m glad to see her enjoying herself.”

Lysander hummed thoughtfully, turning his gaze back toward the dance floor. “It’s good for her to be around friends.” He paused, swirling his drink idly. "I don't need to worry so much about Ominis trying to charm her."

Sebastian felt a sudden shift, the unspoken understanding settling heavily between them. Lysander’s offhand remark about Ominis hadn’t just been a casual observation. But for a fleeting moment, they were united in a mutual sentiment—one both protective and possessive over Evangeline, sparked by the sight of her in Ominis’s embrace.

Sebastian’s smirk softened just a fraction, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Lysander. “Indeed,” he said with a hint of a drawl. “Ominis is as steady as they come.”

Lysander inclined his head, his smile faintly amused. “Exactly. He’s dependable, the sort one doesn’t have to worry about. It’s… reassuring.”

Sebastian’s jaw clenched at the subtext in Lysander’s voice, the implication that anyone else would be a threat. “Reassuring,” he echoed dryly, raising his glass in a mock toast. “Though I doubt Evangeline needs anyone to monitor her choices. I imagine she won’t settle for anything less than exactly what she deserves.”

Lysander’s polite smile tightened, his grip on his glass shifting ever so slightly. “Naturally,” he replied smoothly. “Evangeline has a rare quality. Someone worth respecting—and valuing properly. I'm fortunate to have the means by which to do so. Legacy and tradition certainly help in that regard.”

Sebastian felt the words land like blow to the chest, the calculated sting of Lysander’s remark hitting exactly where it was meant to. Legacy and tradition—a direct reference to his own lack of both. His family name carried none of the prestige of the honoured 24, and whatever heritage he might have claimed had been buried along with his parents. The remnants of his family, shattered and estranged, left him with no claim to any grand lineage, unlike the man currently courting Evangeline.

But Sebastian held his composure, allowing only the faintest smirk to play at his lips, one that dared Lysander to push harder if he wanted a response. “Legacy and tradition,” Sebastian echoed, the words coming out slowly, almost contemplative. “Those are essential, of course.” He paused, swirling his drink as if lost in thought. “But I imagine Evangeline’s not someone who can be… contained by mere tradition.” His gaze flickered back to Lysander, his meaning clear. “Anyone who thinks so might be in for a bit of a surprise.”

Lysander’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, his composure still intact, but Sebastian could sense the underlying tension building with each carefully veiled remark. “True enough,” Lysander replied, his tone masking his irritation. “But she does appreciate the stability that tradition offers. Familiarity, honour… a sense of belonging.” He looked at Sebastian with a faintly superior expression, as though implying that only someone of his status could provide her with such things.

Sebastian’s jaw tightened subtly, though he maintained his relaxed posture. “Perhaps. But then, she’s not someone to be boxed into anyone else’s expectations. She’s far too… vibrant for that.” He let his gaze linger on Evangeline, who laughed at something Ominis said, her eyes bright, her entire demeanour relaxed and radiant.

Lysander’s smile grew faint, his eyes fixed on Sebastian with barely concealed disdain. “You sound quite invested, Mr. Sallow,” he said, his voice smooth but the barb unmistakable. “One might even mistake your attentiveness for something… personal.”

Sebastian turned to meet his gaze directly, his own smile sharpening just enough to reveal the edge beneath it. “Perhaps I am invested, in the sense that I want to see her happy. But then, I am her closest friend. You know, Evangeline has a way of inspiring… loyalty.” He tilted his glass slightly, as though in a subtle toast. “After all, only a fool would take her presence for granted.”

Lysander’s composure wavered for the briefest moment, his fingers tightening around his glass, but he quickly masked it, returning the slight nod with a cold smile. “I wouldn’t dream of it."

Before either of them could speak again, the music shifted, signaling the start of another dance. Sebastian glanced toward the floor, where Evangeline was laughing, her gaze bright as she exchanged a few words with Ominis.

Sebastian downed the rest of his drink in one smooth motion, feeling the warmth settle in his chest as he set the glass down with a soft clink. He met Lysander’s gaze one last time, his smile sharp and challenging.

“Well then, best not to keep her waiting,” he said lightly, inclining his head toward the dance floor. “I’d hate for anyone to think I’m neglecting the rules of tradition.”

He gave Lysander a final nod, then turned, his stride calm and unhurried as he made his way to the edge of the dance floor where Evangeline stood, watching Ominis with a warm smile as he gave her a gentlemanly bow. When Ominis stepped back, he turned and caught Sebastian’s eye, a glint of amusement flickering across his face as he gave a subtle nod of encouragement.

Sebastian couldn’t help but smirk, letting his irritation from the exchange with Lysander melt away as he approached Evangeline, taking in the sight of her as if seeing her anew. Under the ballroom’s warm, flickering lights, she looked ethereal, every bit as captivating as he’d imagined in his most vulnerable moments. The gown she wore perfectly complemented her hazel eyes, its delicate fabric draping elegantly over her curves in a way that was both tasteful and irresistibly alluring.

His eyes traced the line of her jaw, the curve of her shoulders exposed by the off-the-shoulder cut of her gown. And then there was her mouth—a soft, inviting shape that seemed made to pull his gaze, her lips parted in a smile that made his heart stumble.

He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until he was close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her, an intoxicating mix of confidence and shyness that seemed uniquely hers. Her gaze flicked up to meet his, her eyes widening just a fraction as she registered the intensity in his expression. The hint of surprise in her eyes made his pulse race; she had no idea how stunning she was, or the effect she had on him.

“Sebastian,” she greeted him, her voice soft, and he felt a rush of warmth at the sound of his name on her lips.

He held out his hand, his fingers itching to close the distance, to feel her warmth in his palm. “Miss Sterling,” he replied, his voice a low murmur that carried an undercurrent of unspoken admiration. "May I have this dance?

“Certainly,” she replied, a faint teasing glimmer in her eyes as her hand slipped into his into his, sending an unexpected thrill up his arm.

They took their place on the dance floor, and as he settled one hand at her waist, feeling the warmth of her through the thin fabric, he fought to keep his composure. Her body fit against his so naturally, the gentle curve of her hips pressing against him in a way that felt achingly intimate, even through the propriety of their formal stance. His hand at her waist tightened just slightly, grounding him, as though any release would risk him forgetting himself entirely.

When she looked up at him, a hint of curiosity in her eyes, he managed a faint smile, though the heat simmering beneath it was impossible to disguise.

“Don’t look so shocked,” he murmured, his tone low and teasing. “Believe it or not, I can manage the occasional formal dance without causing a scandal.”

She let out a soft laugh, her shoulders relaxing as they moved in sync with the music. “I’m… impressed,” she admitted, amusement lighting up her gaze.

Sebastian chuckled, his voice warm and rich. “I’ll take that as a high compliment,” he said, letting his hand press just a little more firmly at her waist. “Though, I must admit… it helps to have such a stunning partner. You look... remarkable tonight."

It was an understatement, and he knew it, but he was afraid that admitting the truth—that he found her nothing short of breathtaking—might unravel the thin thread of restraint he clung to.

Her cheeks flushed, and he watched, captivated, as a soft smile curved her lips. “Thank you,” she replied, her voice so quiet he had to lean in to hear it, her breath brushing against his skin, sending a shiver down his spine.

They turned, his hand tightened instinctively at her waist, drawing her just a bit closer. Her eyes flicked up to meet his, and the air between them thickened, the tension growing into something palpable, something unspoken yet unmistakable.

"I must admit, I'm... quite surprised you're here tonight," she murmured, her gaze softening as it held his. There was an unspoken question in her eyes, a flicker of curiosity and something more—a longing he hadn’t dared to hope for.

Sebastian’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Ominis thought you might appreciate some familiar faces,” he replied smoothly, though the truth lay deeper than that. The chance to see her tonight, to be close to her, had been too tempting to ignore. “And, truthfully, I couldn’t resist.”

She raised an eyebrow, her own smile growing as she tilted her head to study him. “Couldn’t resist a formal pure-blood gathering?"

He took a steadying breath, a faint, wistful smile crossing his face. “Well,” he began, his voice lightening just slightly, “I came to offer my services as a very traditional, well-mannered dance partner.”

Her laughter was soft, genuine, and it lit up her eyes in a way that made his pulse quicken. “Well-mannered? That’s new,” she teased, her voice warm.

“Only for tonight,” he said, his tone holding a playful edge, though his gaze on her was steady, unwavering. “Consider it my rare attempt at making a good impression.”

She tilted her head, still smiling. “A good impression? Whatever for?”

“Perhaps to remind you that I’m worth at least one more dance,” he replied smoothly, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of her hand, sending a thrill up his arm.

Evangeline’s gaze softened, a hint of colour rising to her cheeks. “I suppose I could allow that.'

Their steps fell into sync, an effortless rhythm carrying them across the floor. Sebastian found himself drawn to the small details—how her hair framed her face, the warmth of her hand in his, and the way her lips curved into that small, shy smile when she met his gaze. She didn’t seem to realize just how utterly captivating she was. She was more than beautiful; she was… mesmerizing, a force he felt powerless to resist.

As their first dance concluded, Sebastian held onto her hand a fraction longer than necessary, his gaze lingering on her as if memorizing every detail. The orchestra struck up a new melody, and he hesitated, reluctant to let her slip away.

"One more?" he asked despite himself.

Evangeline smiled shyly, offering him a small nod, and he felt a rush of satisfaction as he led her back into the flow of the music, their steps effortlessly aligning.

This dance was slower, more intimate than before, the distance between them narrowing with each turn. Sebastian couldn’t stop himself from tracing every curve, each shy glance, and the soft flush of her cheeks under the ballroom lights. As he felt her heart beat in rhythm with his, he almost let himself believe that this moment was real—that there was no Lysander waiting at the edge of the crowd.

When the final notes faded, they stilled, and reality began to press in on him. Sebastian forced his grip to ease, his hand dropping from her waist as he prepared to release her, despite every instinct screaming to hold on.

As they pulled apart, he managed a faint smile, though his eyes betrayed a flash of pain. "Thank you for the dance, Evangeline. You’ve made my evening…" He trailed off, his voice losing its strength as he struggled to maintain his composure, glancing away briefly to gather himself.

Evangeline gave him a soft, searching look, her own emotions flickering in her gaze. "The pleasure was mine, Sebastian," she whispered, her tone achingly sincere. Then Sebastian caught a flicker of movement over her shoulder—Lysander was watching, a faint frown creasing his features as he started toward them.

Sebastian’s jaw clenched, and his heart twisted painfully. He wanted to say something, to tell her what he truly felt, but the words lodged in his throat, tangled with fear. Instead, he took a steadying breath and stepped back, letting her slip from his grasp with a forced, bittersweet smile.

Every fiber of him longing to reach out, to ask her to stay, to say what he had kept buried inside. But he remained silent, watching her treating form as she she was swept in the Ravenclaw's arms, the vision of her, radiant and out of reach, searing itself into his mind.

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